


our bodies are young and blue

by orangebricks



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangebricks/pseuds/orangebricks
Summary: Steve threads his way through the vicious jungle that is junior year of high school and gets caught up in between dating, and, maybe, falling in love with his best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this is my first fic in quite a while and but i've always had this idea. i never thought i'd write this but here we are. title from lorde, just because.

The halls are quiet when Steve leaves art club since he’s the last to leave today’s meeting. The wind is cold and nipping at his exposed skin when he leaves the main hall to find his way to the soccer field. He mentally beats himself for not bringing a jacket. It’s the third Monday of September, and only an idiot wouldn’t know it’ll be cold as soon as the afternoon comes.

Steve manages to reach the bleachers in one piece, his cheeks tinged with pink. He picks up his notebook and starts thinking about November’s art exhibit. The theme is about – he remembers Mr. Rafael’s Italian accent as he says– _“what is lost can be found and made anew.”_ Whatever the hell that means. Each of the club members will present a piece, and frankly, he doesn’t have any idea.

He starts scribbling words, ideas, anything to help—what about his dog, Maxim? Steve was eight when he found him when in the streets looking for scraps and became the family pet since then. He hears the faint sound of a whistle far away.

The soccer team’s Coach Philips announcing a five-minute water break and _then get your asses back in here and do five rounds around the perimeter_ which is then followed by a series of groans. He can almost feel the sore in his lungs with just the thought of kicking soccer balls in succession. Steve is just seventeen and his lungs rack when he coughs; he’ll never survive.

Steve looks up when he hears the familiar sound of footsteps crunching the grass.

“Coach is really out there to end us,” Bucky says, catching his breath. The cold isn’t any kinder to them. The tips of his nose is turning red. He’s in his jersey with a long sleeve spandex top underneath; it’s not doing much protection from the cold. The others are wearing something similar. Steve cannot imagine how the soccer team can make it through practice without knocking the teeth from their skulls.

“He looks like he’s not going easy on you any soon,” Steve says, glancing at the coach's smug face. “We’re going to your gramma’s later though, right?”

“Yeah, she’s been asking me to swing by and actually _swing_ in the ballroom,” Bucky answers as he rummages through his bag, reaching for a long piece of brown cloth. “Wear this, you look like you’re about to shatter.” Bucky clumps it and throws it to Steve, who clumsily catches it with one hand.

“Christ, I’m fine.” Steve rolls his eyes, wrapping it around his neck and reaches below his chin. “You happy?”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky bows dramatically. The distant sound of Coach Philips’ whistle rings sharply across the field, Bucky sighs through his nose. “There’s my signal.”

“Don’t wear yourself out too much,” Steve reminds him in between chuckles. “You’ll have more to do later.”

 

 

They come out from Bucky’s car after a 20-minute drive to Fontaine Retirement Home. They changed in more appropriate clothes; crisp white buttoned shirt, black slacks. Steve’s are a bit big for him but Bucky assures him he looks fine.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re wearing yours like it’s made for you.” Steve grumbles beside him. To be fair, he is wearing Bucky’s shirt.

“Don’t worry, they’re going to like it anyway,” Bucky says like that makes up the fact the fact that Steve had to fold his sleeves to his elbows.

When they reach the steps, they can hear the sound of a lively piano playing through the doors. Steve can feel Bucky smiling.

They’re greeted by a beaming woman in a warm yellow dress. “Bucky? Is that really you?” She holds Bucky from an arm’s length, marveling that his grandson finally found the time to visit.

“Aw, grams. Like you wouldn’t recognize me anywhere.” Bucky gives her a warm smile before wrapping his arms around her.

Steve is standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, quite unsure of what to do other than feeling the joy his friend is radiating. He doesn’t mind though.

“I brought my friend with me. He’s Steve,” Bucky gently let go from the crushing embrace, and motions to him. “You’ve heard of him,” Bucky grins.

“Oh, how could I not?” When Steve holds out his left hand, she takes it and pulls him in for an equally crushing hug. “Bucky has told me stories of you two while growing up. I’m Sylvia. It’s great to finally meet you, Steve,” she says, beaming.

He returns the smile. “I tried the famous Sylvia’s apple tarts before, best tarts of my life.”

“Well, consider yourself a lucky guy. It’s not Veteran’s day here without her tarts,” Bucky tells him.

Steve’s eyes roam the banquet hall. There are about eight tables in the room, some seats are occupied, and a long table where tables of food are found. There’s a small stage in front, a piano softly—a Bee Gees song—playing in the left corner. In the far right, he sees a mini bar. He looks up and sees series of colored lights are hung on the ceiling. Steve hums at the notable warm temperature.

“Darling, you have no idea how much I’ve been bragging about a grandson who knows what to do with his feet in the ballroom.” Steve hears Sylvia saying.

“Well,” Bucky laughs, never turning anyone down. “We don’t wanna disappoint them.” So they meet everyone in the room. It turns out, not only does Bucky’s grandma works here, but she also organized the entire party. Steve is more than delighted to hear the stories of people who once protected the ground he’s standing on. By the time he finally sat down, a glass of wine in his hand, he’s filled with awe and pride.

It turns out, Bucky is great with old women.

Steve watches Bucky throwing his head back, his hand resting on his stomach, laughing with an old woman in a white frilled dress. Soon, he has an arm of a slim old lady linked with his own as they walk towards the middle of the hall.

It also turns out, Bucky is pretty great in the ballroom.

Eloisa Atti, _Now or Never_ , is playing through the speakers. He can almost hear Bucky’s laugh as he takes three steps back from the old lady, his hand holding hers; taking another three steps at the side before turning her around. “This is the Texas Tommy,” he remembers Bucky telling him last night, their bodies pressed close, hands clasped together. He insisted to teach Steve because he does not know shit about dancing, let alone _swing._

“Bloody hell.” he hears a female voice swearing far behind him. Steve turns to see a girl in a red dress, about his age, staring at an empty tray on the table.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks her. Then he realizes it’s the girl in his chemistry class, the girl who he hasn’t talked to because he thought she was pretty and smart and who is he exactly? He almost chokes when the realization hits him. Peggy Carter, that’s her name.

Pretty, smart Peggy looks up from the trail of crumbs. “I can’t believe I bloody missed the tarts,” she says, her accent crisply British.

Tarts, tarts, Sylvia’s tarts? He finds himself saying it out loud. “Yeah, that! I especially came here for them. Those were the—“

“Best tarts of your life?” Steve finishes it.

“Yes! You tried them too?” Peggy’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Whenever Sylvia has them, yeah.” Steve nods. He doesn’t know what to say next so he stands up and extends his hand. “Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Peggy. Peggy Carter.” She accepts his hand, giving it a firm shake.

“I know.” he croaks. She looks a little confused. “I think we have chemistry,” he blurts, which is met by a raised eyebrow. Steve realizes how he just sounded.

“I-I, uh. I mean, we have chemistry class together.” Steve stammers, his ears turning red. “Y-you know, Dr. Banner’s class.”

“Really?” Peggy cocks her head to the side, her red lips quirking to the side while assessing him. “Oh, right! You are the kid who’s always drawing in class but never misses Dr. Banner’s questions!”

Steve smiles sheepishly. “I guess that would be me.”

Peggy glances at the small crowd behind them. “Are you visiting someone here?”

“Nah, I’m here with my friend. His gramma works here,” he says. “I’m just tagging along. And for the apple tarts too.” He wets his lips. “You visiting an old folk here too?”

“Well, other than the tarts,” she laughs, “I have an uncle. He’s retired here, wouldn’t wanna stay in London. Said he’s spent his youth here so he’s gonna settle here too.”

From across the hall, a voice calls her, “Peggy, dearie. It’s time!” She turns her neck then back to Steve.

“Ah, well. That’s my cue.” She says. “It’s lovely to meet you, Steve.”

“Y-yeah, you too. Nice to meet you too,” he says. She gives him a smile that matches the color of her dress, before turning her heel and walking towards the stage.

The music slowly stops, and a [slow and sweep of the piano begins](https://soundcloud.com/inxcallora/a-nightingale-sang-in-berkeley). Everyone’s attention is directed to the girl in the red dress standing before the microphone.

_“That certain night,”_ she starts softly. _“The night we met, there was magic abroad in the air.”_

 “Hey,” Bucky says, finding Steve seconds later. He wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “You having fun?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. He can’t seem to look away from Peggy.

Bucky follows his gaze. “You know her?”

“Yeah, we have chemistry together,” he says. Bucky snorts.

Steve arrives five minutes before the first period starts and stops at his locker to pick up some sharpened pencils. He hears Schmidt’s voice a few feet before him, he’s leaning by his side on a locker.

“Come on,” Schmidt says, leaning towards a body Steve can’t see. “Just once, that’s all I ask.”

“Yeah, just once.” Zola echoes, trailing behind Schmidt.

“You really think my answer’s gonna be different,” a voice responds—its Peggy. “After you asked me for, what, how many times already?”

“It’s going to be great,” Schmidt insists, arm bracing against Peggy’s locker, blocking her way. “Just one date.”

“It’s still a no,” Peggy says. “I’d appreciate it if you leave me alone.”

Schmidt looks up briefly and sighs, but doesn’t change his posture. So Steve clears his throat and says, “Yeah, Schmidt.” He takes a step forward. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

Schmidt turns around, eyebrows creasing. “This is none of your business, Rogers.”

“All I’m saying is she already said no,” Steve says. “So leave her alone, man.”

Schmidt stares at Steve, then to Peggy. “Wow, you Americans really think you’re something,” she says. Schmidt finally straightens up and lets Peggy go.

Schmidt leaves and glares down at Steve, shoving him into a locker.

Steve holds his breath and ignores him, waits until he’s gone to rub at his shoulder. He winces as he thinks about the bruise that will probably form.

“Steve, are you alright?” Peggy asks him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” He straightens. “How about you?”

“He’s getting annoying,” Peggy lets out a groan. “Johann saw my presentation once when I first came here. And now he keeps on asking me out.”

“Men really have to learn how to take no for an answer,” Steve says.

Peggy looks at Steve. "Thanks for getting him off my back," she says, then her wristwatch beeps. “I should–“ She says, “See you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says. He knows he’s grinning too much but he really can’t stop as she watches her go.

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there like a grinning idiot, but he hears Bucky calling behind him. “Hey, Steve,” he places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he says, holding the strap of his backpack. “Ready for calculus?”

 

 

Steve is flipping his notes when Peggy arrives in the chem lab. When she walks into the room and sees Steve, her face lights up and makes her way to the seat next to him. Steve smiles back, the sides of his mouth almost reaching his ears, and keeps smiling even after the class starts.

“So we want to extract isobutyric acid from a solution of diethyl ether,” Dr. Banner explains. “How can we do that?”

Steve looks down at his washes—water and hexane, and makes a soft sound. “Um, well isobutyric acid belongs to a polar group, which can readily hydrogen bond,” he mutters lowly. When Peggy hears and turns to him, she gives Steve an encouraging look. “You can extract from the diethyl ether by washing a polar solution–water. Yeah, like water.” Steve continues, his voice a bit louder.

“Yes, _good_ ,” Dr. Banner says approvingly. “Would one wash of water be enough to extract it from the solvent?”

Steve pauses for a bit. “Multiple small washes extract better than one big one, I think,” he suggests.

“Maybe three 10 mL washes of water could work?” Peggy adds excitedly.

Dr. Banner hums thoughtfully. “How about we give that a try and see what happens.”

Steve slowly looks sideways and sees Peggy preparing her own washes, concentration tugging up the corners of her mouth.

He looks back to his own washes, trying to bite down the growing warmth in his cheeks.

 

 

 “Hey, Steve,” Bucky makes way behind Steve in the line as soon as he enters the cafeteria doors. “Did Dr. Banner tell you about the chem project?”

“The wine project thing?” Steve says as he looks at today’s menu. “Yeah, why?”

“Wanna team up?” Bucky asks, handing a tray to him. “I asked Dr. Banner and he said it’s okay if we’re in different classes.”

“Oh, I–“ Steve says, stopping in his tracks. “I—uh, I’m kinda doing it with somebody else. Sorry, Buck.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Alright. That’s—yeah, okay. No problem.” He pauses and looks away for a moment. “So, who is it?”

“It’s Peggy,” Steve says. “That girl who sang in your gramma’s retirement home.”

“Oh, her? She’s actually also in my Russian class.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “She’s new here, but she’s great and she asked me so, I thought–“

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky says, nodding. “Really, man. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just ask Sam or something.”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t—“

“Dude, its fine. Stop apologizing.”

“I should’ve—“

“I swear if ‘sorry’ is coming out from your mouth, I’m punching you in the face.”

Steve breathes, carefully trying not to grin. “Sorry,” he says and gets a shove in the shoulder.

 

 

It’s Saturday and surprisingly, Bucky has no soccer practice so he’s over at Steve’s house. He’s lying on his bed, humming a tune. From the chair beside his bed, Steve guesses it’s from a Harry James song while he draws the slope of Bucky’s nose on his sketchbook.

“So,” Bucky says. “Do you like Peggy?”

Steve looks up from his sketch and looks at Bucky, but he’s got his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Well,” Steve says, then pausing like he’s thinking about it. “She doesn’t talk me into drawing her for free or anything, so…”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, turning to Steve. “That’s not what I meant, idiot.”

“I know,” Steve grins. Then takes a moment to actually think about it. “I mean, she’s pretty cool,” he says eventually. “Did you know she’s an intern at Stark Industries? That’s like a huge deal.”

“What, like, robots?”

“Yeah, she’s working on extensive data security,” Steve says. “It’s why she transferred here, actually. Howard Stark wanted to test out her project.”

“Wow, that is pretty cool,” Bucky says. He pauses and goes back to staring at the ceiling and then says, “You sound like you already know quite a lot about her. You talk a lot?”

“Well,” Steve shifts in his seat, toying with the corner of his sketchbook. “I mean, she’s nice so…it’s easy to talk to her. And she’s fun.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hums. “She does sound nice. Nice enough to talk to you and all—“

“Hey!” Steve smacks his shoulder.

“You should ask her out,” Bucky suggests.

“What—“

 “Seriously, you should,” Bucky says, looking at him now. “I’ve seen her talk, she’s probably into you.”

“Dude, you haven’t even talked to her.”

“I told you, she’s in my Russian class.”

“Oh, right,” Steve says. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Bucky raises his brows. “What, you’re scared? Dude, it’ll be fine.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause stuff like that comes so easy for you,” Steve says, a little irritated.

Bucky turns silent for a moment and sighs. “Steve, that’s not what–“

“Sorry,” Bucky says.

Steve looks at the window. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Maybe I will.”

 

 

Its project day in chem and Steve has a couple of oranges in his paper bag. He walks to Peggy’s table and places the oranges for them. Peggy smiles at Steve as he sits down next to her.

Steve takes out the oranges from the bag one by one and they don’t talk much, but it’s a comfortable kind of silence. He glances sideways and sees Peggy typing something in her laptop–looking up the basics of winemaking, Peggy tells him later. For a moment, he focuses on the movements of her fingers, typing methodologically on the keys, and the way Peggy’s concentration shows as bites her bottom lip, then Steve thinks about what Bucky said.

“So,” Steve begins. “How long have you been around here?”

“Well, for about two months now,” Peggy says.

“How do you like it so far?”

“Oh, it’s been great,” Peggy says. “I miss a few things from England though—the weekend brunch, the tea and biscuits, football, but not your football though,” she says, grinning. “The pictures, too. I haven’t gotten around to visit the ones here.”

“You like movies—I mean, pictures…?” Steve says, almost stammering. Peggy watches him, slightly amused. “You like them?”

“Quite a lot,” Peggy says. “I used to go see one every weekend.”

“Good ones are up this weekend,” Steve says. He makes his voice lower. “I mean, that’s what I heard. And that the one Leonardo DiCaprio’s in is pretty good.”

“Really? Maybe I’ll go see them soon,” Peggy says.

“I wouldn’t mind if I go with you,” Steve blurts. Peggy raises an eyebrow.

“ _You_ wouldn’t mind?” Peggy repeats. Steve blinks, taking a moment to realize how he just worded it like he’d be doing her a favor. Jesus Christ.

“I—I mean if you wouldn’t mind,” Steve says, inhaling deeply. “I’d go with you. If _you_ wouldn’t mind.”

Peggy looks at him, her mouth tugged like she’s about to laugh. Steve waits for it, the impending rejection. “I wouldn’t mind at all, Steve,” she says.

_Oh_ , Steve felt himself exhale. “Great,” he says, shameless and smiling. “Nice.”

“How about this Saturday?” Peggy suggests.

“Yes,” Steve says immediately. “Are you free on Saturday night? Seven ‘o clock?”

“It’s a date then.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiles back. “A date.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a little chilly when Steve arrives outside the cinema, five minutes before Peggy walks around the corner to meet him and Steve has to fight the urge to gape. Peggy smiles coyly, her lips are red that matches her dress. This is her color, Steve muses, if a color must’ve been made for a person, it must’ve been made for her.

“Wow,” Steve says. “You look great tonight. I mean—“ He pauses to correct himself. Christ, get a grip.  “You’ve always looked great. Especially tonight.”

Peggy laughs out loud. “You look great yourself, Steve.”

Steve fights down the blush and says, “How are your classes? Glad you’re not busy.”

“I’ve been especially enjoying Literature, even though I have maybe a couple of book reports for Mr. Odinson,” Peggy says. “He definitely has an obvious enthusiasm for heroic epics.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “I didn’t even know an in-depth discussion of Norse Mythology was in the syllabus. Mr. Fury has been reminding him to stick to it.” Steve is now very aware of the Allfather’s _shoe size._

“I actually like it,” Peggy admits. “It made a good reminder, believing in heroes for a little bit doesn’t hurt. When you’re in a world of cynics, it’s nice to break away and make yourself believe in the goodness somebody can make—through a laser gun, or a swing of a sword, even if it doesn’t abide the laws of physics sometimes, or just the simple act of selflessness, it’s a good thought. I guess it’s a reminder how anyone is capable of doing something good, something greater than yourself.”

“Well,” Steve ponders for a moment. “I don’t know about people in capes flying, but I believe in doing what’s right. I’m not sure if that makes anyone a hero.”

“It does, Steve,” Peggy says, smiling softly. “Oh, gosh. That was too serious to say on a first date.”

Steve shakes himself awake with the word _date_. “To the _pictures_ then?” He says, and Peggy is laughing. “We can talk more after.”

 

 

“What flavor do you want, Peggy?” Steve asks, stopping by the booth for a minute.

“Flavor?” Peggy turns.

“For the popcorn.”

“Butter?”

“That’s what I thought. One plain popcorn please.”

“I thought—“

“Wouldn’t want buttery fingers in case we hold hands.” Steve blurts before he thinks twice about it, his ears warming up. Peggy laughs, shaking her head but her eyes say _alright, fine by me_.

Several minutes in the movie and in the screen the CEO is walking, oblivious to the shitstorm behind him; Steve gathers all his nerves and finds Peggy’s hands with his own and twines their fingers together.

They’re not talking but at the corner of his eye, he sees Peggy smiling.

 

 

“So,” Bucky says as they grab lunch. “How was it?”

“What?” Steve says, frowning a little.

“C’mon,” Bucky says. “You know what I mean. Your date with Peggy. How’d it go? Did she kiss you? Was it good?”

“Bucky!” Steve gasps and feels his ears go hot. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Bucky says, his mouth twisting to a grin. “I just wanna know in case we’ll have to move away and hide forever.”

“Wha—are you serious?” Steve laughs. “We just watched a movie.”

“What?” Bucky says, feigning disappointment. “Steve Rogers, have you not learned anything from me?”

Steve makes a face and shoves him. “We held hands. That’s all. Jesus.”

“Ha!” Buck says, clasping his shoulder. “I knew it! She likes you.”

“Really,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “You couldn’t have figured that out when she said she’d go out with me?”

“I can never be sure until it happens,” Bucky says, shrugging.

“Shut up,” Steve says, stifling a grin.

“You guys going out again?” Bucky asks.

“Uh,” Steve says, instinctively looking down his shoes. “Maybe. She said something about a science expo. We might go.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “That’s great.”

“I’m thinking about it. Maybe you can help me choose what to—hey! Why did you stop?”

“I—I think I left my phone in Lit class,” Bucky says, patting the pockets of his jeans. “Just grab a table and I’ll catch up.”

“What?” Steve says. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says over his shoulder. “Or, actually, you know what? You can sit with Peggy.”

“I can’t,” Steve says but Bucky isn’t listening and Peggy doesn’t eat lunch here; she spends it at Stark Industry. “Okay, whatever.”

“Oh, hey,” Bucky calls, stopping across the hallway. “What movie did you watch?”

“Inception.”

“Inception,” Bucky repeats. “Was it good?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” Steve says but Bucky has already turned and walked away. Steve watches him go, a little confused.

 

 

It’s not that Steve meant to snap at Bucky the next morning, but Steve spent the entire night on his homework for calculus and had to wake up 2 hours earlier than usual to make sure he’s done it correctly. So Steve is yawning every two seconds and it’s not helping that Bucky points out every time he does. When Bucky says, “You’re really working hard on that new social life, huh?” It shouldn’t be a big deal but Steve doesn’t miss the resentment in it.

So when Steve sees Peggy and stops to talk to her before calculus and Bucky says after, “I’m surprised you guys still have stuff to talk about,” that ticked Steve off.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Steve says, frowning now. 

Bucky stares at him blankly. “What?”

“What’s your problem?” Steve says. “Do you not like Peggy or something? I don’t remember you being this…”

“Being what?” Bucky asks, his eyebrows knitting.

“Well, you were a lot nicer before,” Steve says, more pointedly. “You’re talking about her like—like—“

“Like _what?_ ”

“I don’t know! You’re the one who said it’d be a great idea if I asked her out!”

Steve realizes he has raised his voice and looks around hurriedly. Luckily, people haven’t arrived yet and Pepper Potts is looking down pretending not to hear anything.

“I don’t get you, Bucky,” he says lowering his voice.

“Dude,” Bucky says, making a face. “I don’t have a beef with your girlfriend. _Jesus._ Stop making things complicated. _”_

“I’m not! I’m just pointing out how much of a dick you are right now.”

“Yeah, except I’m not the one going around accusing other people of hating their girlfriend, so…”

“That’s not—“ Steve blinks. You’re unbelievable, he thinks. “You know what, whatever.” Steve grips his bag tighter and walks to their classroom. He hears Bucky let out a loud sigh but Steve doesn’t look back.

He finds an empty seat where Tony usually sits, Steve places his bag there. He knows Tony is going to make a fuss about it but after what just happened today, Steve’s sure he can handle anything. And it’s not like Rhodes won’t mind sitting with him.

Somewhere in the room, he knows Bucky is looking at him, trying to get his attention but Steve doesn’t budge.

 

 

When Steve walks to art club, Sam has already propped his easel, a canvas placed not too far. “Hey,” Steve says, dropping into a chair and gets his lunch from his bag. He peels a tuna sandwich from its paper bag and frowns when he sees Tony standing before a wall of paintings, a coke in his hand.

“I still don’t get why Tony comes here, he’s not a member either,” Sam says it in a way that isn’t a whisper.

“Ever heard of a curator, Wilson?” Tony answers without facing them. “Because I do have an artistic touch, thank you very much. Just not…actually making it. But it’s there.”

Rhodes walks in, looking like he didn’t mean to but once he sees Tony, his face lights up. “Did you know I had to walk in your dad’s building just to look for you?”

Tony turns, finally. “Sorry, Rhodey.”

Rhodes sees Steve and says, “He always disappears to brood whenever he’s grumbling about school or its system or both.” When Steve doesn’t do anything but frown a bit, he continues, “He just lost a point in Dr. Banner’s test.”

Steve takes a bite of his sandwich but his frown doesn’t leave. Tony looks at Rhodes like he just said the most offensive thing on earth. “Just _a_ point? Have you ever been in his class? It’s like a war zone in there.”

“That’s not so bad,” Steve says. “His class is pretty brutal, it could’ve been worse.”

“That’s not the point, Rogers—“ Tony sighs.

“Here we go,” Rhodes’ shoulders fall.

“The point is, losing a point is a symptom! That you have failed to grasp the concept. It means you misunderstood something essential—“

“Or that you missed a subscript,” Rhodes says. Sam sniggers in his seat.

“I’m sure we’re all aware,” Tony says. “Our educational system isn’t perfect…So, there’s that.”

“He just cares a lot about his grades,” Rhodes whispers to Steve and Sam, translating it to them. “He pretends he doesn’t but look at him.”

“Besides,” Tony says, still arguing; against who? They’re not sure. “It’s pretty damn satisfying when you ace a test.”

“Maybe if he doesn’t waste so much of his time hiding the fact that he’s actually a huge nerd,” Sam comments. “Maybe he’d get the chemical equation right.”

Steve tries to laugh at that while trying not to think about Bucky.

 

 

“Really,” Steve says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what his deal is. He just started saying all that. I mean, he said he liked Peggy so I thought he’s fine with her.” Then stops for a moment, and thinks. “Oh my god,” Steve says slowly. “Did he mean he liked— _liked_ her?”

Natasha bursts a laugh, she’s sitting on his desk so Steve has to look up at her. “That’s literally the worst conclusion I heard from anyone ever,” she says, still laughing. “You’re not serious, aren’t you?”

“Well, then _you_ tell me,” Steve says. “Since you seem to know everything.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Listen,” she says. “You and Barnes have been friends since forever, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “So?”

“ _So,_ ” Natasha says. “If I’ve been friends with someone for like a long time then suddenly another person comes in between….and my friend spends more time with them now,” she says, pausing to pretend like she’s thinking about it. “Gee, Steve, I’m not sure why he’d care.”

“Okay,” Steve says and blinks. “What? That’s it? It sounds kinda dumb.”

“Well, I didn’t say it wasn’t dumb,” Natasha shrugs. “But that’s probably it.”

“If you put it that way,” Great, he thinks, now I actually have to talk to him about it. “I liked it better when I thought he was just being a jerk.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to know what his deal was,” Natasha says, hopping off his desk. “Now you gotta, like, really deal.”

A few seconds later, Mr. Odinson marches into the room with a smile on his face. “Today, we speak of heroes!” he says, waving a hammer-shaped pen.

 

 

Steve is pacing in the hallway, wasting fifteen minutes before groaning and goes down to the soccer field. When he reaches the bleachers, he sits at his usual spot. He doesn’t see Bucky but Sam gives him a wave from the field.

Steve waits but he doesn’t see Bucky arriving even after the rest of the team started their warm-ups. When Steve waits for an hour more, he realizes Bucky didn’t make it into practice at all.

He leaves the field and walks down to the parking lot to find Bucky’s car, memorized his usual parking space, but sees it empty.

The sky gives a low growl and a few seconds later, the rain starts to pour. Steve hears the soccer team cheer in delight, he feels the opposite. It’s going to be a long night, he thinks to himself, his hair already catching raindrops.

So when Steve walks to the station and rides the bus home, he goes to bed shivering, sneezing, and sick. Steve misses class the next day.

 

 

Steve pretty much wasted the day sleeping with a clogged nose so he has to breathe through his mouth. So later that afternoon, just after class, Bucky sees Steve in his room dozing off with his mouth open, drool on the corner of his mouth. It would’ve been funny to anyone—or even disgusting, there was a visible clear mucus somewhere around his nostril—but this is Bucky and he’s seen Steve in much worse situations.

Steve wakes moments later, feeling the warm weight on the edge of his bed. He rubs his eyes and sees Bucky, already looking at him.

“Hey,” Bucky says and tries to smile.

“Hey,” Steve says, sitting up slowly. “How long have you been here?”

“Not that long,” Bucky answers. “You missed class.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, sighing. “Got sick yesterday. Probably the rain.”

Bucky shifts in his spot. “Sam said you waited for me during practice yesterday.”

“I—uh, yeah. I did,” Steve says. “But you weren’t there. Figured you went home already.”

“Why?” Bucky asks. “You could’ve gotten home and avoided the rain.”

“Well, I already waited,” Steve says, smiling wryly. “I didn’t have a ride so.”

“So that’s what I’m all for?” Bucky says, mocking disappointment and Steve laughs.

 “Hey, Steve,” Bucky says after a moment, squeezing his knee. “About what happened yesterday, I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Steve is not quite sure what to say to Bucky—talking didn’t need a lot of thinking when it comes to them, it’s has always been natural like breathing or using the spoon and fork. But he’s tired being mad at him, and it’s so much better to talk to Bucky than not at all. He can’t really picture it, not talking to Bucky forever. So even when Bucky’s not making sense, it’s easier to just let it go and laugh it off.

“Yeah, I’m sorry you’re a jerk too,” Steve says it like he’s annoyed.

“I mean it,” Bucky says. “I’m glad that you and Peggy have been doing great.”

Steve smiles. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Guess you really learned something from me, huh?” Buck says. Steve snorts and throws a pillow at him.

 

 

Later that week, Steve meets Bucky at the halls to get lunch when Steve says, “You should go with us.”

“What?” Bucky says.

“Peggy wants to go to the fair,” Steve tells him. “You should come with.”

“Why?” Bucky makes a sour face. “I don’t wanna be the miserable third wheel.”

“Fine,” Steve huffs. “I’ll invite Nat too so you won’t look alone.”

And that’s how Bucky ends up in an unlikely double date.

It isn’t really a double date either, not quite. Bucky just stands there, his hands in his pockets. Bucky finds out later that Natasha came because she’s on the yearbook committee and she needs pictures.

Meanwhile, Steve’s hand is occupied because he’s holding Peggy’s. He’s grown used to the fit of his hands with her warm and slim fingers. But there’s a thrill when he’s reminded how Peggy chooses Steve, out of anyone she could have, she wants small and skinny Steve.

From behind them, Natasha taps Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, lemme take a picture of you guys in front of the bridge,” she says. When Steve and Peggy comply and Bucky remains in his spot, away from them, Natasha waves him over. “Yeah, you too.”

“Since when did you take yearbook seriously?” Bucky mutters.

“Oh, it does sound fun,” Peggy says. “Come on, Bucky.”

Bucky frowns for a bit at the sound of Peggy saying his name. Then he sighs and walks over to them.

Peggy doesn’t let go of Steve’s hands as they settle and Bucky stands by Steve’s side, his arm across Steve’s back. It’s such an easy gesture, familiar, and Bucky’s warm hand resting on the knob of Steve’s shoulder. Steve smiles and decides he likes this, having Bucky and Peggy by his side—

And Natasha snaps the picture, the flash bright in their eyes. “One more,” she says, holding up a finger.

Bucky mutters something and shifts on his feet. Steve turns a bit to grin at him— _Come on, Buck—_ and Bucky looks at him, turning up his mouth to respond—

“Alright,” Natasha says, satisfied.

“Do you think I could have a copy?” Peggy asks when they walk back. “I won’t be around for your yearbook.”

“Sure,” Natasha nods. “I’ll email it to you.”

Bucky turns to Steve and asks quietly, “She won’t be here?”

“She’s only here for a semester,” Steve says. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Bucky says, looking at Peggy now. “I guess not.”

 Steve knows it’s something he can’t change. So he’s been trying not to think and worry about it and enjoy the time they have left.

“Hey,” Peggy says, calling their attention. “Why are you two looking so thoughtful all of a sudden?”

 

 

A week before their winter break Mr. Rafael announces that the exhibit has been moved to January, which makes a lot more sense because it’s something about the New Year, new things and whatnot so the theme fits more. And its fine, Steve has the entire break to work on it. Mr. Rafael does remind them though that it’ll be on a bigger venue so they can expect more audience.

It’s something Steve would worry about, he’s always been shy of showing his work to a lot of people. But he’ll have to think about it later because he has something else to work on. Steve has too many things to say and no idea how to say them.

When Friday arrives, it’s the last day and Steve meets Peggy in the hallway.

“So, I don’t know if you—but I hope you do—and,” Steve says and Peggy looks at him, mouth curved at the edges. Steve decides he should stop talking and hand the present. “Here, take it.”

Peggy unties the ribbon slowly then peels the thin brown paper wrapping it.  When she sees the picture of her, carefully done in pencil, she gasps. “Steve,” she says softly, after a moment of looking at Steve and back to the drawing. “This is wonderful—you’ve always been wonderful. Thank you. For everything.”

“Ah, well. Being wonderful is one of my many redeeming qualities,” Steve gives her a wry smile.

Peggy lets out a laugh. “I guess you won’t be missing me too much then.”

“Peggy—“

“Steve,” Peggy says and Steve stops talking. “We both knew this was going to happen.”

“I know,” Steve sighs and Peggy curls her hand against his. “But I’ll still miss you though. A lot.”

They stay like that for a moment, just looking at each other. Then Peggy blinks and says, “Hey, we can skype or whatever works across the Atlantic.”

“Thank God for technology,” Steve says, attempting to smile.

When they hear a car honking outside, Steve knows he’ll have to let go now. Peggy sighs and says, “That’s my mom. I have to—”

Peggy stops talking and kisses Steve, warm and sweet and swift just as it started. Then the next thing Steve knows, she’s already in the car. Peggy turns and waves as he watches her go. Maybe there’ll be a life somewhere else—where Peggy doesn’t have to leave and Steve could love her, it wouldn’t be hard at all, and maybe Peggy would love him back. But right now, all he has is this, the warm trace on her mouth when she pressed hers against his, and the possibilities closing in on themselves.

When Steve puts his hand down, he feels a familiar weight on top of his shoulder. It’s Bucky’s.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “You alright?”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, nodding and looking down at his shoes. “I’ll be alright.”

“Come on,” Bucky says, patting his back. “Let me take you home.”


	3. Chapter 3

A week into their break, Steve spends it on a Peggy hangover. He still doesn’t know what he feels, not exactly sad but he sure is pensive. Thoughts of what could have been are all over the place. And the moping, Jesus Christ, Bucky has to haul him out of his room.

“I told you,” Steve protests. “I’ll be fine.”

“Dude, I get it. But can you at least clean your room,” Bucky motions his arms to the mess that’s been starting to pile—soda cans, Chinese takeouts, crumpled sketchbook pages.

When Bucky leaves after he helps Steve take out the trash that is his bedroom, his phone buzzes.

 

From: Bucky

 

> u sure ur ok?

 

Steve rolls his eyes after reading it, smiling a little.

 

To: Bucky

> ???? i’m fine. don’t worry ok.

From: Bucky

> just checking

From: Bucky

> don’t pull a romeo and juliet ayt

 

Steve snorts.

 

To: Bucky

> ?????

To: Bucky

> u haven’t read it, have u?

To: Bucky 

> bc this is literally nothing like it

From: Bucky

 

> well

From: Bucky

> this is also /so/ nothing like u

 

So a week later, Steve gets up and finally decides he’s had enough of this slump; he comes over to Bucky’s place and Bucky visits his, they walk his dog, Maxim, helps set up the Christmas decorations around the house, and just gets something done.

When they’re busy segregating Steve’s old clothes to give away to charity, Bucky chortles all of a sudden clutching a nylon jacket on his hand. “Oh my god,” he says. “Remember this?”

Steve does, of course, how could he not. Other than the reason of it being a gift from Bucky’s ma when he was eight, but there’s a rather shocking memory behind it as well. Steve used to have a stupid crush on Bucky’s sister, Rebecca. He remembers walking to her, a gift in his hand while he was wearing that blue and red jacket, a woolen shirt underneath, when the carpet beneath his feet started to scorch and made loud crackling noises. Eight-year-old Steve didn’t get it then, and it was just awfully embarrassing until they reached eleven and Bucky told him that his clothes may have caught static electricity.

“Yeah,” Steve says, after laughing. “You know I’ve always been well-dressed.”

“God,” Bucky says, wiping tears in the corner of his eyes. “I didn’t know if I should be worried because you had a crush on Becks or because you had literally set yourself on fire.” Steve chucks a sock at him.

“I could have died!”

 

 

Its Christmas morning and Bucky and Steve are in the living room, sipping hot chocolate milk, Maxim dozing off beside them. They’ve come to a mutual decision to watch a Harry Potter— _The Order of the Phoenix_ —movie after a debate whether the Grinch was an asshole or if people were just really annoying.

They’re in the part where Harry meets Hermione and the Weasley’s in the dining hall for Christmas, when Bucky says, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s not meeting Steve’s eyes and busies himself with Maxim’s fur.

“What’s up?” Steve grabs the remote control to lower the volume.

“Um,” Bucky says, still not looking up. “Uh, I think I’m—“

Steve wants to cue in a Descartes joke but he waits and hums encouragingly instead.

“I think I like guys,” Bucky says, finally, it’s so fast Steve doesn’t almost get it. “As in like,  _like._ ”

“Oh,” Steve says and stops to think what to say next but sees Bucky raising his head and he’s biting his lip. “Wait, dude, are you worried? Because it’s totally fine. Seriously.”

“I know,” Bucky says, curves his mouth to smile. “I just thought I should tell you.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Yeah, that’s. Thanks. For telling me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says more cheerfully now and resumes to sipping his chocolate milk.

“So,” Steve starts to say. “Do you—“ and stops. “Never mind.”

“Hm?” Bucky quirks a brow from his mug.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, come on. What is it?”

“Do you like anyone?” Steve says. “I mean if you had any—I was just,” he pauses, worries he’s going too far. “I was just wondering. But you don’t have to answer that.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, putting his mug back down. “Nah, not really. I don’t think so.”

“Okay, cool,” Steve says as he nods. He kind of feels glad because he honestly doesn’t know what he’d feel if Bucky said yes. He doesn’t think about his small relief.

 

 

Steve has been groaning for fifteen minutes, and he just threw away the seventh page from his sketchbook. He’s been going around in circles and somehow the theme still doesn’t stick. By this point, he’s just killing trees because of his frustration.

“You planning burn a hole on that paper for your exhibit?” Bucky says, flipping a page in the book he’s reading. They were supposed to play today but Stevesays has to work on his project and _you can still come over if you wanna_.

“You alright?” he asks when he puts his book down.

“Just haven’t figured out what to draw,” Steve shrugs, swiveling his chair to turn to him.

“But you’re usually pretty good at coming up with stuff.”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I mean, I could just probably fake it or something but I’m not gonna be happy with it, you know? It’s all about the integrity.”

“Yeah, I get you,” Bucky thinks for a moment. “Something’s bothering you?”

Steve isn’t sure what made him see it; was it the new curtains of his room that brought all the light into his room, or the soft sound of David Gates in _Everything I Own_ through his speakers _,_ or was it his best friend sitting on his bed.

Okay, Steve thinks, what the fuck.

Within that rare, sweet minute, Steve realizes two things: _one,_ how long has it been since Steve dusted his room? Because dust particles are visible and it’s appalling; _and two,_ Bucky sitting against the streaming daylight is so goddamn beautiful and _soft_ his heart hurts.

Steve does that thing in his head like photographing a certain moment through his eyes, tucking it into the deep crevices of his head, to recreate it on paper.

He could draw him like this, he could even use gouache if he wanted. He’d trace the crease of Bucky’s jeans against the bedsheets, show the curve of his thighs, maybe a fine-tipped archival ink to follow the loose curl on his forehead, a small wash of pink for the delicate bow on his lips, if he’s careful enough he’ll include the dip of his neck where it meets his shoulders and the heavy lid on his eyes that still manages to catch the tiniest specks of light. It’s not much of a room, he should even do something about the bare walls, but with Bucky looking ethereal and radiant—and like he belongs in Steve’s room, in Steve’s _life_ …it’s something to look at.

He could see the painting now, unfolding in the backs of his eyelids; turning itself into ink and paint on paper. And of course—of course, his project will be about Bucky. What else would it be? _Who else would it be_?

 _What is lost can be found,_ Mr. Rafael had said, _and made anew._ It makes sense, Steve thinks. Steve didn’t quite much fit to any mold even back when they were kids. He used to laugh and say, it’s because I’m too small and skinny so I’ll just fall right through. But even then, Bucky made him feel like he didn’t have to fit to anything, and _fuck that mold and whoever made it._ Maybe Bucky was the one who found Steve, there were too many little details, huge things which lead them to where they are now. But they’ve always met halfway. Where Steve begins, Bucky would be where it ends. And he’d do the same for him.

 “Hey, whatever you’ll end up drawing,” He hears Bucky saying. “It’ll be great. You’ll do great.”

So he picks up his pencil and turns his chair back to his table, and wow, it’s about damn time he realizes he's in love with his best friend.

 

The spring semester has become more of a torture for Steve. He can’t seem to stop looking at Bucky, always looking for him even in the middle of lectures. One time he almost missed three items on his physics quiz because he’s wondering what Bucky must be doing. When he’s not busy searching for Bucky’s smile, he draws him in the margins of his notes, his library receipt, practically anywhere. He’s awful when he’s pining.

It doesn’t help that Steve never mastered the art of subtlety. Bucky has caught him staring too many times in between class lectures, it honestly is too much. “What’s up?” Bucky would ask him and Steve can’t say anything so he just turns his head away and says, “Nothing. Just zoning out.”

He knows he can’t tell Bucky.

Whatever tangle of feelings he has right now, Bucky can’t know. It feels wrong—he’s not even sure whether he’s taking advantage of Bucky coming out as gay or not. Bucky trusts him with that and Steve can’t ruin it with whatever he’s feeling.

 

 

February rolls in and prom have been the talk of the campus. Steve’s not sure if he wants to go. He can bear to wear a suit that’s an inch or two bigger than him but he’s having doubts whether he’ll really enjoy prom. He _is_ sure that he’s not going to be dancing because he has no one to ask and really, who would want to?

On the night of their prom, Steve hears a knock on his door. When his ma calls him to get it, and Bucky in a pressed suit is on the other side.

“Uh, why are you still in your undershirt?” Bucky says, frowning.

Unfortunately for him, Bucky wants to go. Think of all the dancing, he says. Jesus Christ. Steve almost forgets that his best friend is like a dancing queen or something.

“It’ll be fun,” Bucky says, ushering him to his room so he’ll change clothes. “I’ll find you a girl and it’ll be fun.”

That’s how Steve walks back downstairs twenty minutes later, finally, _finally_ dressed, wondering how Bucky talked him into it.

“C’mere, your ties’ all crooked,” Bucky laughs and grabs his shoulders. He takes a hold of Steve’s bow tie, tugging it lightly then leans back. Suddenly Steve feels warm like Bucky’s gentle hands are still at his throat. He looks at Bucky, at the line of his neck that disappears under the collar of his shirt, at the way he’s smiling like Steve’s tie is the most important thing. “That’s better,” Bucky says. And even when he lets go, Steve can still feel where Bucky’s fingers were—

And hears a snap of a camera behind them.

“Aww, look at you two,” Sarah says softly behind them, clutching a camera. “My boys are looking sharp.”

“Ma—“

“Okay, one more,” Sarah says, camera in hand. Bucky shifts to stand beside Steve.

Steve has to bite the insides of his cheeks and smiles before the camera.

“Come on,” Bucky says, walking towards the door. He’s brimming with light, Steve thinks.

 

 

When they arrive at the dance hall, it looks like it’s straight out from a classic movie. Jukebox music is blasting through the speakers, the room dimly lit, black and gold curtains hanging on to the new poles installed—and it’s actually not so bad at all, Steve thinks, now this is a first.

When Steve gets back from the boys’ room, someone also decides to take their 1940s theme into the top—Schmidt has stepped up from shoving Steve to talking Bucky and an entire community down and that’s something Steve can’t brush off.

“So where’s that faggot? He’s your boyfriend now, huh?” Schmidt says, mocking, and Steve stops.

“Shut up,” Steve says. “Don’t ever talk to Bucky like that.”

“He’s really let a bag of bones defend for him,” Schmidt scoffs. “Can’t even do it—“

Schmidt doesn’t finish what he’s saying when Steve punches him in the face.

For a moment, nothing happens, just Schmidt staring in surprise. Then Schmidt swings and collides his fist against Steve’s jaw. Steve has to blink away the white spots threatening his vision, still crouching on the floor.

Steve tries to push himself up and says, “That all you got?”

Schmidt smirks and punches Steve in the temple. When he doesn’t get up right away, Schmidt aims a kick on his side and sends Steve across the floor.

“Steve?” Someone shouts.

It’s Bucky and he’s running to Steve, pausing only to lift Steve’s face gently with his hand. Then Bucky shoves down Schmidt on the floor, pinning Schmidt to aim a punch on the side of his jaw—

“What. The. Hell. Is going on?” Mr. Fury’s voice rings across the floor.

Bucky lets Schmidt go, and goes to Steve who is still kneeling on the floor.

“It’s my fault, sir,” Steve says and feels blood trickle down his nose.

And that’s how Steve with a bag of ice pressed on his face, Bucky and Schmidt spent the rest of their prom night in the principal’s office.

 

 

Mr. Fury lets Steve and Bucky go first, earning a two-day suspension. It’s almost worth it because Schmidt got suspended for an entire week and another eight hours of community service.

“So,” Bucky says as they walk down the hallway. “Was it true?”

“What?”

“That you fought Schmidt for me.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, gingerly pressing the bag of ice on the side of his nose. “He was being an asshole. And I couldn’t just let him say those stuff about you.”

“What stuff?” Bucky asks. Steve didn’t say everything that happened to the office earlier, especially this part.

“He called you my boyfriend,” Steve mutters.

“Oh,” Bucky says. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes and continues walking, and then slowly he starts again. “You punched him ‘cause he called me your boyfriend?”

“No, not like that,” Steve says, his face suddenly feeling hot. “He said it like it’s a bad thing and I got mad because it’s not. It’s not a bad thing if you were my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Okay.”

They walk in silence again, just the sound of their footsteps across the empty halls. When Steve sees the art club’s door open, he says, “Hey, can we stop by for a minute?”

“They already returned the projects,” Steve comments, eyeing the newly hung pieces of canvas and pictures. When he turns to find Bucky, he sees him standing in front of a drawing—it’s Bucky, sitting on a bed, captured in perfect stillness just like when Steve saw it the first time.

“Is this yours?” Bucky says, slowly.

“Yeah,” Steve says and walks to stand beside him. “I—I didn’t ask your permission—“

“Naw, it’s fine,” Bucky says. “You draw me all the time. This one…it's different though. I mean, other than you actually used paint. But this one—,” Bucky says and turns to Steve. “This one is amazing,” he doesn’t hide how he’s in awe of Steve’s work.

“Thanks,” Steve says and smiles sheepishly “It wasn’t hard, this piece. It just came to me. Naturally.”

“I did say that you’re gonna do great, didn’t I?” Bucky pats him on the back.

They stay like that for a while, standing and just letting the comfortable silence speak for them. Steve steals glances from Bucky every now and then, and Bucky probably knows but he’s letting Steve be.

“Bucky,” Steve is the one who speaks first. “I—“ He pauses and looks at him, his mouth parted a little, then continues. “Can I tell you something?”

Steve is fully facing Bucky now, his heart racing, honest and threatening to spill its deepest truths, filling up first in his chest before he finally wills himself to tell Bucky his own deluge. He squares his shoulders and takes one last breath—

 Steve says, “I like you.”

Steve waits for the disaster to happen. But instead, he gets this: Bucky looking at him with wide eyes and a smile that’s about to crack, looking like he’s finally found his safe place.

“I know you said you didn’t like anyone,” Steve says. “It’s fine. You don’t have to like me back. I just thought I’d let you know.”

Bucky lets out a laugh and says. “Good for you. Because I think I lied.”

“What?”

“I said, I think I like you too.”

Steve’s heart does a funny jerk. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and he’s still can’t believe that this is real, that this is happening. But Bucky wades through the water and reaches for his hand. Steve lets him.

“You _think_ you like me?” Steve says, he has a smile that can’t seem to stop growing and Steve doesn’t want to stop.

“Hmm,” Bucky makes a face like he’s deep in his thought. “Might need to spend more time together just to make sure.”

“Wouldn’t want to get it wrong,” Steve looks down to smile, watches their hands, fitting like a locket.

 

 

They spend their two-day suspension studying for their exams. So they’re hunched over looking at their reviewers and notes.

“Wow,” Bucky says. “I’m actually getting work done while I’m on suspension.”

Steve’s getting distracted every now and then now that he’s allowed to look at Bucky and not feel bad for it. It’s amazing how he’s still discovering and learning something again about Bucky: the softness of the spot under his jaw, the firmness of his hands, the curve of his knuckles when he’s holding a book, the little mole below his ribs, and the gentle tug of his mouth when he looks at him and says, “I wish they’d be over already.”

“Just one week to go,” Steve tells him. “Then it’s your big game day.” Bucky groans.

“I just wanna—I don’t know,” Bucky says, rolling over to Steve’s side, his legs tangling with Steve’s and his arm is across his stomach. “Chill. Do stuff. With you.”

Steve can feel himself turning pink. “Gross. Get off me,” he says. But it’s not doing much.

“Can you stop being a good student for at least a minute?” Bucky says and drops down to kiss him. “You’re gonna do fine anyway.”

“Yeah,” Steve points out. “It’s ‘cause I study.”

Bucky groans out loud and plants his face on Steve’s neck. Steve lets him stay like that for a minute before shifting abruptly, away from Bucky. “Hey!” Bucky’s face crumples and Steve laughs, and kisses him this time, biting his lower lip a little. When Steve pulls back, Bucky’s got a grin on his reddening mouth.

“Fine,” Bucky says and sits up, but not before he steals another kiss. “I’ll take Lit.”

“I’ll give you an hour,” Steve says, picking up his book. “And then—we can—“ he grins “—do other things.”

 

 

Bucky crosses the field and looks up. The crowd is roaring and it reverberates through Steve’s body. He can’t see Bucky but he knows his expression all the same: a little stunned when he looks before a crowd, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiles.

The team surrounds Bucky and for a moment they’re all a blur of blue uniforms, raised helmets, and distant sounds of whooping and hollering. Steve runs towards the benches, ducking elbows as he goes.

When the team parts a little, Bucky’s running towards him, his helmet dangling in one hand. His hair is wet and sticking on the back of his neck, his face flushed, eyes bright.

“Hey,” Steve says, not really knowing what to say.

“Hey yourself,” Bucky says, he’s still grinning.

“I guess you’re the big star,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah,” Bucky’s jumping a little on his feet. “Guess you’ll have to treat me like one now.”

“You’re gonna be so ridiculous the next couple of weeks,” Steve can definitely see it from now.

“Me? Ridiculous?” Bucky puts an arm on Steve’s shoulder then says it low. “Only for you, babe.”

“Come on, Barnes,” Sam shouts. “Stop stalling.”

Steve raises his eyebrows but Bucky doesn’t say anything—he takes a deep breath and then his hands are cupping Steve’s face and he’s leaning down to kiss him.

When Steve feels Bucky’s warm breath, he lets his mouth open for him and Bucky swipes his tongue on his lower lip and into his mouth. When Bucky dips him down a little, his hands on the small of his back, kissing him hard and deep, the crowd is wild on its feet and cheering all around them. He feels Bucky smiling against his mouth.

“So,” Bucky says when they let go, their foreheads touching.

“So that was nothing,” Steve says, his smile is all sly.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky tilts his head.

“Might have to try again,” Steve shrugs.

“You could’ve just asked,” Bucky rolls his eyes and gets a punch in the shoulder. Steve’s laugh is chased down as Bucky’s mouth finds his.

Yeah. It’s definitely more than just nothing.

 

**Epilogue**

The yearbook finally comes out. Steve flips through the pages at lunch and sees that Natasha used the photo after all. He smiles at the look on Peggy’s delighted face, Steve looks straight ahead, and Bucky—

Bucky’s looking at him, pensive but with the fondness that’s only for Steve.

“Buck,” Steve waves him over to his seat. “Have you seen this?”

Bucky’s brows furrow together when Steve shows him the picture. “Okay, so it’s a good picture of you?”

“Bucky!” Steve says again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky ducks his head and says lowly, “You were with Peggy. And you were happy.”

He’s right. Steve was happy. And he wouldn’t trade all those months with her. But still, looking at this picture now makes Steve feel something, Bucky has always been there all this time.

“Besides,” Bucky says, sniggering. “I thought you were straight!”

“Idiot,” Steve says, shoving him lightly. “You can like both.” Then he pulls Bucky down to kiss him, kisses him for every ‘sorry’ he didn’t get to say then and for every ‘thank you’ and anything in between. Maybe Bucky understands what he’s not saying because he kisses him back, warm and sweet.

“Oh my god,” Tony says. “Really? Right in front of my salad?”

“Shut up, Tony,” Bucky says, raising his head up.

Steve doesn’t bother to reply, just pulls Bucky down for another kiss.

 

 

It’s finally the first day of their summer break and Steve spends it by lying on top of Bucky, kissing him.

“So,” Steve says in between kisses. “How did you think junior year went?”

“ _I_ think,” Bucky says, laughing. “You shouldn’t talk about school when we’re making out.”

“Okay, but,” Steve says, licking up his way to Bucky’s neck. “Objectively speaking. Do you think it could’ve gotten better?”

“We could be doing something better,” Bucky says, gasping a little when Steve nibbles the lobe of his ear, his hand going under his shirt. “If you kiss more than you talk.”

Steve stifles his complaints by going back up to kiss his mouth, biting his lower lip and swiping his tongue over it. When Steve’s mouth finds the outline of Bucky’s collarbone, he gently bites it before sucking the spot.

“Stevie,” Bucky says, slightly breathless—and when Steve shifts his hips, Steve realizes, ecstatic, that Bucky is _hard._

“C’mere,” Bucky says, raising his elbows then turns them over. Steve is staring up at Bucky—Bucky drenched in the morning light, his lips swollen and red, hard against Steve’s stomach.

“Can I—“ Steve slants his fingers on Bucky’s waist. When Bucky nods, he cautiously slides his hand underneath Bucky’s boxers to wrap around his dick.

Bucky makes wet noises when Steve kind of strokes. He figures it’s not too different from touching himself—but he sees Bucky, fluttering his eyelids close, taking in shallow breaths, and lets his head drop between Steve’s shoulders when Steve picks up his pace.

Bucky mutters, “yes, god, Steve,” and “that’s it,” and says his name over and over in between breaths. Bucky goes back to kissing Steve, hot and hungry. When Bucky comes, he gasps into Steve’s mouth, yielding.

“I think junior year couldn’t have gotten better,” Bucky’s voice sounds sleepy and satisfied when he speaks after a while. “Objectively speaking”

“How come?” Steve asks looking up from Bucky’s chest.

“Well,” Bucky says. “The best thing to ever happen is right beside me,”—and winks.

“What a sap,” Steve throws an arm over his eyes, laughing.

“Hey,” Bucky gently pries his arm away. “Only for you”

Steve tugs Bucky’s arm and uses it as a pillow against his head, and Bucky curls around him.

Steve could get used to this.


End file.
